Don't ask me how I've been
by legallyblained
Summary: Amy's anxiety reaches new levels with her new role as sergeant. Jake tries to help her admit she has a problem.


It's not the first time this month Jake's woken up alone. Or this week. Or tonight.

 _Maybe she's just gone to the bathroom or something_ , he tries to tell himself, but he knows exactly where he'll find her. He can hear her typing even with the bedroom door closed.

"Ames?" She doesn't hear him. He goes through his routine even though it feels silly – clears his throat, takes a couple of clunky steps, closes the kitchen door a little more loudly than usual – so he won't make her jump when she notices he's there, but it's still his hand on her shoulder that snaps her out of her trance. She flinches. As hard as he tries not to let that sting, it always does.

"I'll be there in a second," she mutters, not looking away from the screen. Well, she glances away for a second, but it's only to check her hand-written notes. Not to see him.

"That's what you said an hour ago. And two hours ago. And I've come to get you from the bat cave at 3am every morning for weeks because you won't stop working."

Her fingertips stop tapping at keys and her hands pull into fists. Her lips tighten before she inches her frame away from the kitchen table, strewn with paperwork, laptop and shoulder-nova the only sources of light in the room.

"I… I have to work."

Kneeling next to her, he covers one of her white-knuckled fists with his hand and brings it to his lips for a second before just holding it on his knee. Something's telling him he needs to go slowly.

"But does it really have to be done right now?" She finally turns to look at him and he tucks her hair behind her ear where it's come out of the tight bun at the back of her head. She's now decided that stress-braiding is too time-consuming. "I miss you. It feels like I've barely seen you lately."

She snatches her hand away and turns to face the mountain of work again.

"Well, sorry if I can't be around to babysit you all the time. You'll have to look after yourself for once."

He wants to argue that that isn't fair, that he doesn't expect her to- but he stops himself, knowing she's not in the right headspace for a genuine discussion. That's not where this is coming from. "You got me. I just miss your cooking."

"Not funny. Look, I promise I'll come to bed in a minute. Leave me alone so I can concentrate."

She tries to go back into the zone, pointedly ignoring his hand at the small of her back.

Feeling utterly lost, he rubs at his eyes and stands up. He's so exhausted, and he doesn't particularly want to hang out with the woman who's been lashing out at him more and more recently, but he can't leave her like this. She would pull the occasional all-nighter back when she was just a detective (not that she was ever _just_ anything), but it was because she was on a roll or excited about a case or because they were both at the precinct, surviving on adrenaline and coffee and curiosity. This is different.

"Gotcha. I'll go wait in the living room."

A pause.

"What? No, go to bed."

"But you're not gonna be long, right? I'll wait so we can go together."

"You don't trust me?"

"Course I do. You'll only wake me up when you come stomping in; this way we fall asleep in each other's arms and it's beautiful and warm and comforting and I don't have to sleep by myself, which I hate, and you definitely don't stay up until seven doing paperwork that honestly just seems to be reproducing somehow. Win-win."

"You're being childish."

He shrugs. "All I know is if you're not sleeping, I'm not sleeping. Do you want me to get you anything?"

She looks at him again – it's not the smug face she saw on him years ago, knowing he'd proved a point and ready to gloat. He really would stay up all night for her. He knows, has known much longer than her, that she's in trouble.

"I'm guessing coffee's off the table?"

He kisses her hair. "I honestly don't think the table can take any more."

He's reading on the couch when she shuffles in. She'd barely registered that she was still in her work clothes until she sees him curled up in his pyjamas, fighting desperately to stay awake. She was annoyed at him for knowing that if he didn't stay she never would have gone to bed, but now she's more annoyed with herself: he also knew that staying in the same room as her would have made her snap at him. She can't blame him for wanting to avoid getting yelled at.

She sits at the other end of the couch, glass of water in her hand, and smoothes his hair back gently.

"Awake. So awake. Been awake this whole time because I love you and you need to sleep."

Two months ago she would've laughed and dragged him to bed, wrapping herself around him to make him feel safe. Now she sits, smiles, has no idea how to get back to any kind of safety. It's been a while since she's felt it.

"I'm sorry. I know I haven't been here for you, and I've been short-tempered, and- but I'm, I'm sergeant now and there are going to be times when I put work before you and you knew that-"

He shuffles closer, shaking his head. "Ames, no," he takes her hand, "You know I support you in your career, it's not- I just want you to be happy. This isn't making you happy. That's why- did you think I was just mad at you?"

She just looks at her feet where they're folded up underneath her, hand shaking so much she has to put her glass down. "I just- I'm sorry I'm letting you down."

Her face crumples, and Jake wants so badly to wrap her up but he knows there's more. He settles for now for a hand on a knee, an arm round her back, a kiss on the cheek.

"Never. You could never let me down."

She shakes her head vehemently. "Jake, I- I don't know what to do. I've wanted this for so long, being sergeant was part of the plan, but, I-"

 _You're the most incredible sergeant, you're perfect, you're everything-_ He forces himself to stay calm. "But what?"

"I want to do it right. I want to be a good sergeant, and the youngest ever captain, and when we get married I want to be the kind of wife you want-"

"Amy, you're-"

"I finished my report hours ago. And the data analysis Holt wanted. It's been done the whole time but I can't leave it alone. I can't stop checking it. I feel terrified all the time, scared that I'm going to screw everything up and let everybody down." She takes a jumpy, labored breath. "I can't fail at this. I have to be perfect. Any mistake I make, I beat myself up over it for weeks. If anybody says they need to talk to me about something, my brain goes into hyperdrive trying to figure out what I've done wrong. I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

His heart feels like it's crumbling in his chest. He's never felt so helpless. He wants to put her back together, but right now he has to just sit and let her fall apart. How long has she been trying to keep it together for the sake of everyone around her?

"I just… what if I'm not good enough? Maybe I can't handle being sergeant if it's doing this to me? Maybe I'm not strong enough if I'm constantly scared of messing up? What if… what if everything I've worked for was just a waste of time, and I have to quit and go back to being a detective and give up and admit defeat- I keep thinking that if I just work harder that I'll stop feeling so scared, but it's not working." It's only now that she can bring herself to look into his eyes. "I'm still terrified."

She's breathing quickly, one hand on her chest, her cheeks striped with tears. Once he thinks she's got everything out, he rubs at her back to tell her she can collapse on him if she needs to, and she takes full advantage of the opportunity and buries her face in his neck.

At first he just strokes her hair, tells her it's okay, he's here, while he tries to figure out what to say. He has no idea how to convince her of what seems so obvious to everyone but her. He hands her the glass of water and she sips slowly and deliberately; he can see her counting her breathing in her head, in for four, hold for four, out for four – he knows the little coping mechanisms she's learned over so many years of struggling with her anxiety.

"I know I've always been… highly strung. Fussy. I thought it was just a quirk, my little thing that made me _me_ , but- it's not cute any more. It's never been this bad before."

"So we'll get you some help. Have you ever seen anybody about this?"

She shakes her head. "My mom wanted me to when I was little, but Dad was weird about it. He just figured as long as I was getting good grades, I was fine. He always told me I was perfect."

"You don't have to be perfect. That's way too much for anybody to ask of themselves."

"But Jake, I wouldn't be where I am today if I wasn't like this. I got straight As all through school. I'm on track to be the youngest ever captain in the NYPD because I work my ass off. I've only ever been told that this is a good way to be. Even you like that I'm driven and that I care about what I do."

"I also like when you're excited about laminating and when you're dancing like a goofball. I mean, sure I respect you for how much you care about work, but also how much you care about your friends and your family, how kind you are, how funny you are- Amy, you're so much more than a cop."

"Maybe… maybe if I can just, get into a rhythm with this, I can keep going for a little longer and-"

He ducks his head a little to catch her eye, to drag her out of the zone again.

"Do you really want this to be your rhythm? Not sleeping? Not even enjoying your work any more because it's killing you? Amy, I've never seen work make you this unhappy."

She gives a little shrug. "I… I don't know what to do."

He risks a smile. "Hey, if you want help being less perfect, you're lucky you live with this guy."

It pays off. The tiniest laugh escapes her lips. He kisses her forehead.

"Okay. You're not going in tomorrow. Neither of us is. I'll call work and they'll understand. The precinct won't fall apart without us for a day." He feels her tense at the idea. "You're not well. A sick day for mental health is allowed, especially when you haven't taken one in six years." After a pause, she forces a slow breath and nods. "And we'll get you an appointment with someone."

"Like a shrink?"

"Like someone who knows how to help with anxiety. I can come with you if you want, or-"

"Yes. Please."

He smiles. That's what he hoped she would say.

"Anything. And we can talk to Holt, see what work can do to help."

She grabs his hand and squeezes. "Do we have to? What if he's mad? What if he demotes me?"

"He wouldn't. Amy, do you think it says anywhere in his mentoring binders to take your dreams away? Anyway, Ms. Union Representative, what are the rules regarding workplace discrimination based on mental health issues?"

She sighs. "Okay. But he'll think I'm pathetic. I need everyone to think I'm tough or they won't respect me."

"Do you think they'll respect you more if you work yourself into a nervous breakdown? Amy, everyone in that place loves you. I bet even Gina would want you to do whatever you need to feel okay again. Although she would say it in a really weird, mean way, so maybe we won't ask her for an opinion right away."

A slightly easier laugh this time. "It's not like there's anything they can do, though. I have a bigger workload with the promotion. That's the job."

"Then you can talk to Terry. He's been through the same thing, balancing being sergeant with a social life, a family, and I know for a fact that sometimes he gets a deadline extended or maybe only proofreads his work once like a barbarian. Holt can maybe ease up with paperwork for a while until you're in a better place. They can help you find a specialist to talk to, somebody who talks to other cops all the time. If the others knew you were having such a hard time, I bet they would all look out for you, even if it just means the occasional reassurance that you're doing well, or 'I need to talk to you, but it's nothing to worry about'. I know you want to be perfect, but it has to be… sustainable? Is that the right word?"

She nods. "Okay. Worth a shot."

"You're not going to deal with this alone. You don't have to. And we can figure something out at home. Like no working past 7? One night a week with no work, and you can just take a bath and listen to music, or I could give you a manicure, or we can go for a walk, or to the movies, or out to dinner-"

She raises an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "Date night? That's such a… _married_ thing to do."

He grins. "Yep." He kisses her, can feel her smiling against his lips. "Amy, the kind of wife I want is you. It's always been you. Whether you're super-cop or stressed out and yelling at me or if you're asking for help. I never want you to feel like you have to be perfect for me. Because frankly I plan on making absolutely zero effort from the second you say 'I do'."

She snorts. Even at her most agitated, that's something she could never believe. She straightens up and takes a deep breath. "Okay. No work tomorrow. We can start there." He smiles and nods.

He's always known that Amy is exactly the kind of wife he wants, whatever happens. He offers his hand and she takes it, following him to their bedroom. For once, she is the little spoon. He makes a silent promise, as he does every night, that he's going to be exactly the kind of husband she needs.


End file.
